The Lovely Lady
by HLY66
Summary: A mysterious girl travels via time machine to the Year XXXX - Location: [REDACTED] - where none other than the fictional Salad Fingers resides. She comes to his aid and many different events occur upon arrival. As the days progress, the girl begins to learn more about her "forcefully" forgotten life and possibly... what type of person she actually is.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**** The inspiration of this story came from playing Scarborough Fair on the Magic Piano app. In this FanFiction, Salad Fingers' name will be shortened to SF. **_Text in Italics shows when SF is voicing other characters._** I ****DO NOT**** own Salad Fingers. David Firth is the original creator.**

* * *

Yet again, Roger had terrified SF with the distorted screeches and demonic sounding voices from an unpleasant broadcast he had just tuned into. It was a shame that he couldn't listen to more of the Great War. SF quickly made his way to the Safety Cupboard along with Marjory Stewart-Baxter.

Hubert Cumberdale and Jeremy Fisher were fast asleep in bed at this time so SF decided to leave them to catch their beauty sleep. Hopefully, they should wake up just in time for Croxley at Breakfast.

SF remembered that he forgot to add more sustenance to Roger earlier that day, but he chose to shrug it off. He hadn't spoken to Marjory for a while so he chose this time to start a conversation.

"So, Marjory, h-h-how have you been lately?"

Silence filled the claustrophobic space of the Safety Cupboard, only Roger's muffled devilish screams can be heard from the other side of the sliding door.

"_I-I-I am feeling grand today." Marjory replied._

"Shall we see how Penny Pigtails is doing?"

Silence was SF's answer again.

He walked his hand along the small ledge, pretending to be Penny Pigtails singing merrily down the path.

"Are you off to the market again, P-P-Penny Pigtails?"

"_Yes, I'm going to go buy a nice blackberry crumble."_

"_Bog off, you little mare!" said the market trader. "And take those cotton legs of yours with you!"_

Immediately after the market trader insulted Miss Pigtails for the second time, SF broke down in tears as if the abuse was directed at him, maybe feeling sorry for the innocent young lady in his mind. Marjory lay on the ground, forgotten. If she wasn't a finger puppet, she would have comforted SF and wiped his tears away. If she spoke to him with sympathetic words, he would become scared of her just like his encounter with Mable when she spoke about the crow stealing his spoon.

After a solid ten minutes of weeping, Roger suddenly fell silent. SF gasped at the surprise.

"I-I-I think Roger has finally ended that broadcast for good." he assumed.

But what he didn't know was that someone had let themselves into his home...


	2. Chapter 2

**In the year 20XX**

* * *

A girl, who was born in **19XX**, was known as a child genius across the globe. She had knowledge of many subjects from medical related issues to politics shown on our televisions today. Her skills were putting experts such as scientists, mathematicians and technicians to shame. During the years of her fame, most people grew envious of her many talents. They wished that their talents would be great enough to make them walk away with a ton of cash. They would break an arm and a leg to be exactly like this girl.

She was around five foot six, shoe size seven. Her short black hair with white highlights was tied in two high ponytails. Her favourite Steampunk goggles with the left eye in the shape of a camera lens were always kept on until she retired for the night, her brown eyes hidden from the world. Her casual wear consisted of a long black Ramones shirt, black leather fingerless gloves, black nail polish and dark grey jeans with braces hanging from the sides. Her shoe wear included black Converse with white stainless laces.

The girl wanted her personal life to remain unknown to everyone else.

Because of this, no one knew her full name. Neither did she, why? Because she taught herself to forget it, she wanted to change her identity. The public gave her the nickname Lottie, although she didn't think the name suited her.

No one knew her age or birthday, they all assumed she was somewhere in her teens.

No one knew where or who her parents are, was she brought up in an orphanage?

No one knows how she quickly developed all these skills during her isolation.

They never saw her in public, they only saw her on the television to collect her many rewards.

They never heard her speak; people believed she had a case of Mutism.

The only emotions she showed were happy or sad, never angry or distressed in any way. If she was happy, she would beam a small innocent smile. If she was sad, the same grin would turn upside down into a frown.

One day, alone in the dimly lit cottage, the girl began reading about a certain fellow who was known to nearly everybody who explored the internet. She once heard about this character whilst listening to an audio clip of a group of friends talking about 'him'. Curiosity got the better of her as she began her research.

He was feared, loved and hated by many people, all because of his mannerisms and strange behaviour. His appearance as well as his trademark deformed hands haunted those who dared to see an image of him whilst in a room surrounded in darkness. It is said that a British gentleman, David Firth, had created this character. He named him Salad Fingers, the name idea chosen when Firth's friend once quoted that he had 'salad fingers' whilst strumming away on his guitar. The girl took this as nonsense but a part of her wanted to believe it was all fiction. She believed that this 'animation' was created to mock SF.

Enough was enough; she was going to help this character. The girl didn't care if people were to call her crazy or just plain delusional.

She packed many supplies with her. Medical kits, food, water, second hand clothes stolen from the charity bin and many others that can fill a household fit for a family of four. She also bought some DIY tools for future reference.

Her unannounced prototype time machine may be impossible but it was worth a try. The space inside was the same as two garden sheds put together. So every box, crate and suitcase managed to fit in every corner.

She dialled in a series of numbers including her destination, the year **XXXX**. Location: **[REDACTED]**.

* * *

In a blink of an eye, she had arrived. The girl remembered that a small dizzy spell was one of the side effects of time travel. She opened the door of the time machine.

The weather was overcast.

The ground was dry and lacking grass or mud.

She was in the middle of nowhere, that's what she thought until she saw the house, the house that she saw in the 'animation'.

She stepped out and observed her unannounced successful time machine. It had camouflaged itself to make it look like a small wooden shed. She looked back at the house again and began to walk towards it. The girl hoped she wouldn't be spotted by any deformed beings that she read about. For the first time, she felt worried. Worried yet felt sorry for them for having a lack of self maintenance.

As she approached the door, she can immediately smell the ammonia wafting from the cracks in the windows. Thankfully, the girl came fully prepared. She put her goggles atop her head and slid on the clear oxygen mask which stretched across the bottom half of her face, along with a tank strapped to her back. She hoped that her current appearance would not frighten SF.

Although feeling guilty for not knocking first, she opened the door. The moment she stepped into what appeared to be the living room, devilish screams emitted from a hollowed out radio filled with small pebbles... sustenance.

She began to tear up when she heard weeping, she couldn't find its location, but she knew it was definitely **him**. Her heart strings were being tugged each time SF took a breath before continuing to weep.

With silent footsteps, she switched the radio off. Silence filled the isolated cottage. A surprised gasp broke it immediately.

"I-I-I think Roger has finally ended that broadcast for good."


	3. Chapter 3

The girl's heart pounded in her chest. What to do now? For the first time, she felt fear. Fearing that her intrusion would provoke SF to attack, fearing what he would say when he saw her, fearing what he will do next.

She slowly began to back away towards the door. Her heart skipped a beat when she stopped on a loose floorboard. The creak was loud enough to echo through the whole house, loud enough to wake up Hubert Cumberdale and Jeremy Fisher who remained still on the bedroom floor, loud enough to alert SF of her presence.

"It looks like someone has dropped by to say h-h-hello, Marjory." said SF, staring into the finger puppet's unblinking eyes.

The girl spotted a sliding door from the other end of the room move a few inches to the left (to the right in SF's perspective). Marjory Stewart-Baxter on SF's index finger emerged from the Safety Cupboard and scanned the room. After ten seconds, she was pulled back in. The door remained open.

"W-W-Who's at the door, Marjory?" SF asked. Silence was his answer.

"Who?" he asked again.

The Safety Cupboard door slid a few inches more so that it was wide enough for SF to emerge from his hiding spot.

The girl's heart raced at a hundred miles per hour at the sight of him. He looked exactly the same as he did in her research.

She waited for him to scowl at her, but instead when he saw her, his look of concern turned into an innocent little grin, both unnerving and kind at the same time.

"Oh, hello." He said happily, as if greeting a long term friend. "Y-Y-You came just in time f-f-for a spot of tea."

For a moment, the girl thought that her heart had stopped for a full minute as SF began to walk towards her, leaving Marjory Stewart-Baxter in the Safety Cupboard. Each step he took, she can faintly smell putrid sweat and body odour coming from him.

She was right all along, he really did need help. His mind and mental state had turned numb, his current living conditions would make a healthy human drop dead in a matter of hours, his deformed hands made him stand out like a sore thumb with a large splinter stuck in it.

"I-I-It's been a while since I had guests." he said, reaching out and poking the girl's forehead with one of his fingers.

"H-H-Have you got a name?"

The girl sighed, looked down at her feet and shook her head slowly. What she didn't witness was SF's sudden look of surprise. His grin morphed into a flat line when the girl answered.

"I think you're called...erm... Wendy..."

Now it was the girl's turn to look surprised. She looked back up at SF whose smile had returned. She quite liked the name 'Wendy'. In fact, it was better than 'Lottie'.

"Yes, that's right," said SF. "W-W-Wendy... Crawford."

Wendy's beam grew so wide that the corners of her lips almost peeked out of her oxygen mask.

Wendy Crawford.

Wendy Crawford was her name.

**Her name**.

It was perfect.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** _Text in Italics in this chapter_ _is for the dream sequence.  
_

* * *

SF turned on his heel and walked back towards the Safety Cupboard. Did he sense that Roger was going to suddenly switch on and scare him again? As far as Wendy was concerned, he had shrugged her off instantly.

He got on his hands and knees and reached an arm in to pick up Marjory Stewart-Baxter. SF walked towards the front door with the finger puppet back on his index finger.

Wendy stared into Marjory's small black eyes. She reminded her of those little gift shop voodoo dolls that had bodies made of yarn. Wendy loved them, but there was something about Marjory that made her suspicious. She couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"C-C-Come Marjory Stewart-Baxter, let's go for a nice stroll."

SF bumped into Wendy, ignoring her as he walked outside and began walking in a random direction.

Wendy quickly jogged back to her time machine. She had some plans to get together. Knowing SF's corrupted mind, he won't be back from his 'stroll' for quite some time. Two Mondays, she thought. Wendy may not be right, but she kept her fingers crossed.

* * *

_It was as if he was controlling her mind, or attempting to. Whenever SF did something, Wendy fought the urge to feel the emotions (or what little emotions he had) he was expressing. She felt differently this time, as if she was the complete opposite, an evil twin, a sinner._

_SF sat shirtless in the corner of the room, branch of nettles in hand. Wendy sat against the wall on the other side, feeling a slight cold draft, thinking that she wasn't wearing a thicker shirt. She tried to sit up but her body wouldn't budge. Her eyes were fixed on nothing else but SF who once again he began to caress his bare chest with the plant. Wendy's hormones were starting to lose control, her heart was racing._

"_Stop it!" said a voice in her head. "Stop acting like this! It's wrong! Not in the situation you're in now! Stop it now!"_

_Wendy tried her hardest to obey her subconscious mind. The only thing that was stopping her was the heavy wave of pleasure that hit her. Her eyes rolled in the back of her head as SF finished his 'session' with the nettles. Why was he doing this to her? Why was she feeling the same sick pleasure that he felt? She closed her eyes; she didn't want to look at SF anymore. They quickly snapped open when she felt something scratch her cheek. SF had walked over towards her and began the 'nettles session' on her. The sight of his face up close and the stench of his heavily rancid breath made her want to be sick. Wendy tried to scream as the nettles moved down her body. But as soon as she opened her mouth, the same pleasure wave travelled up her body and created a loud moan that shook the whole house..._

* * *

Her eyes shot open immediately. She bolted upright, trying to catch her breath. Thank heavens, she thought, just a nightmare. Wendy blamed herself for watching Episode Three (out of the ten episodes created by Mr Firth) when she was researching SF back at home. She clutched her head, attempting to force those mental images of the nightmare out of her mind. She had to focus, she had to go back to the house and survey all the rooms before she could start renovation.


	5. Chapter 5

**Four Mondays later...**

* * *

Wendy took a few steps back to observe the house from the outside. At last, the job was done. SF will now have a cosy new house to live in. There were new doors, windows, roof tiles, bricks instead of wood and (although it took a while to clear) fresh air circulating each room. She also made sure that there were no rusty utensils lying around or sharp nails sticking out of the walls.

She decided to keep the Safety Cupboard and Roger in their designated places, just so SF doesn't have an episode of panic next time the radio scared him.

For a good deed, she had made miniature beds for Marjory, Hubert and Jeremy, just to make SF happy that they were being cared for too.

* * *

As she went about making up SF's bed, she accidentally tripped over a loose shoelace and clumsily fell onto the floor. Wendy was about to sit up and redo it until she spotted something under the bed that she never noticed before when moving the furniture back. It must have been one of the scented candles she lit hours ago.

Wendy pulled the object out from under the bed. To her surprise, it was a small hand wound music box. She had a collection of these back at home in a glass cabinet. She loved turning the little handle to watch the barrel spin and the metal comb being plucked by the pins.

She slowly turned the handle, pleased to find that it was working perfectly. The first eight notes got her attention immediately. It was the beginning of Scarborough Fair. It was one of her favourite songs from when she was an infant. Her mother used to hum it softly to her to help her sleep...

* * *

Wait a minute...

Did she...?

Remember her mother...?

But... didn't Wendy...?

* * *

**Are you going to Scarborough Fair?**

Wendy forgot about her thoughts when she heard an angelic voice singing along to the music box which had restarted from the beginning.

**Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;**

**Remember me to the one, who lives there,**

Wendy snapped back into reality, realising who the voice belonged to.

**For once she was a true love of mine.**

Wendy Crawford was singing.


	6. Chapter 6

Wendy dropped the music box as if it gave her an electric shock. Biting her tongue down, fighting off the urge to dig her teeth into it. What was she thinking? She had not spoken in years, not even to herself. What if SF had arrived home and heard her? The haunting tune she put on when singing Scarborough Fair could make him tremble at the knees or even worse... attack her?

SF is so unpredictable, yet Wendy had a huge sinking feeling in her stomach whenever she assumed what he might do. She thought back to her research: a terrified child shut in the oven and cooked alive, a man who died from a cracked skull on his doorstep hung from a hook on the wall and left to rot. Does SF have a history of cannibalism?

"Oh, t-t-the music stopped," SF's voice could be heard from the other room. "But that's not going stop me from o-o-observing this grand hotel."

He heard her?! Well, at least he couldn't see her.

Wendy wanted to feel sorry for confusing him, for rapidly changing his living environment. But... that was what she wanted to do, wasn't it?

Wendy stuffed the music box into her pocket and walked into the living room to find SF adding more sustenance to Roger. Marjory was nowhere to be seen. Nothing of interest seemed to be on the air today, she thought. Wherever this place was, Wendy highly doubted that the radio will play back ten years worth of old drama podcasts. She wanted to imagine SF sitting back and listening to them during the early afternoons... but the voices will more likely make him cower in the corner with wide eyes and pin-prick pupils staring blankly into space.

"Oh, W-W-Wendy Crawford," SF smiled a small grin.

His long arm stretched upwards in an attempt to wave. Wendy hesitated and shyly waved back.

"F-F-Fancy seeing you here on this fine day, a-a-and you bought Roger with you too." SF finished serving the sustenance to Roger, ignoring the stray pebbles scattered on the floor.

He walked towards Wendy, holding his deformed hands in front of him. He wore a timid expression on his face as he spoke up again.

"I-I-I was wondering... if you would like to join me for dinner tonight."


	7. INTERVAL

**ATTENTION READERS**

* * *

**As a last minute change, I have decided to create Choice Paths because I believe that this story is more likely to become interesting if a possible dark or happy ending may occur.**

**The following chapters are labelled as **_**"Choice 1"**_** and **_**"Choice 2"**_**. Once you choose your chapter, go straight to Chapter 7.**

_**Choice 1&amp;2**_** will include [TO BE CONTINUED] if Chapter 7 has not yet uploaded.**

**At this point of the story, do not write reviews containing spoilers. Any reviews found doing this will be deleted immediately. Compliments are accepted.**

**If you would like to suggest to me how the story will escalate from here, please Private Message your suggestions so that I can decide what to write about in the upcoming chapters.**

* * *

**Happy reading!**

**HLY66**


	8. Choice 1

SF stared oddly at the jacket potato Wendy served him. He moved his face closer towards it, watching the chunk of butter slowly melting on top. Just as he was about to take a bite out of the potato, he quickly spotted Wendy walking back towards him with a saucepan in hand. SF curiously watched as Wendy poured a small amount of baked beans for him. Wendy wasn't feeling hungry enough for a big meal so she had the last of beans.

She knew that what she gave him was a bit plain, but she didn't want to waste too much of the food that she brought in the time machine. Wendy looked to see that SF had already eaten half of the jacket potato, not understanding that he had to eat it with a spoon. Oh well, she thought. She didn't want to pressure him too much.

She continued to watch him eat. His chewing slowed down, his eyes drooped and his body slumped down on the table.

"T-T-That was a pleasant banquet, W-W-Wendy Crawford." SF whispered weakly. "H-H-How was y-"

Wendy, wearing an expressionless look on her face, got up from her seat and walked over to the unconscious SF. She wiped the baked bean sauce from his mouth and hands.

With all the strength she had, she dragged him into one of the spare rooms that she prepared for this moment. She had some work to do.


	9. Choice 2

SF stared oddly at the jacket potato Wendy served him. He moved his face closer towards it, watching the chunk of butter slowly melting on top. Just as he was about to take a bite out of the potato, he quickly spotted Wendy walking back towards him with a saucepan in hand. SF curiously watched as Wendy poured a small amount of baked beans for him. Wendy wasn't feeling hungry enough for a big meal so she had the last of the beans.

She knew that what she gave him was a bit plain, but she didn't want to waste too much of the food that she brought in the time machine. Wendy looked to see that SF had already eaten half of the jacket potato, not understanding that he had to eat it with a spoon. Oh well, she thought. She didn't want to pressure him too much.

She continued to watch him eat. Baked bean sauce dribbled down his chin and small spots got onto the sleeves of his dark green shirt. Luckily, she had some serviettes at her side.

"T-T-That was a pleasant banquet, W-W-Wendy Crawford." SF said after he gulped down the last of the jacket potato. "H-H-How was your meal?"

Wendy formed a small smile upon her face and nodded affirmatively. She got up from her seat and walked over to SF. He didn't move an inch whilst Wendy wiped the baked bean sauce from his mouth and hands.

SF escorted himself out of the dining area whilst Wendy went about clearing the table. Thank goodness, she thought, dinner went by without any errors.

Once she was done, she stealthily walked out of the house and ran straight towards the time machine. If she even thought of spending the night in that house, whether her door was locked or not, there will be massive consequences to face.


	10. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Text in _Italics_ in this chapter is for the dream sequence.

* * *

_Wendy and SF sat silently opposite each other on the levelled see-saw. Both of them stared into the other's eyes, waiting for one of them to lift their feet off of the ground._

_After two minutes, Wendy was about to make a move but SF beat her to it. She shot upwards, abruptly stopping in mid-air with a sudden bump. The small smile remained plastered onto SF's face as he watched her readjusting her sitting position._

_Quickly, he pushed off from the ground. Wendy felt the butterflies in her stomach flutter violently as she fell back down. She didn't have enough reaction time to put her feet down first. The second she hit the ground, she fell backwards off the seat. In that split second, she saw the surprised look on SF's face as he too came down._

_As Wendy was about to help herself off of the ground, she noticed a black tar-like substance covered her hands. It was a potent stench of old blood and raw rotten meat. Wendy looked around to see the source of the substance. Standing at five feet tall, was Marjory Stewart-Baxter. The black liquid oozed from her mouth, which was no longer stitched up but wide open. Her eyes were made up of black squiggles that twitched as if they were animated pencil lines._

_Wendy backed up a little to avoid the life sized finger puppet. The see-saw had disappeared. SF had snuck up from behind her and pulled her up to her feet, his long arm wrapped round her neck but not strong enough to strangle her. Was he... hugging her? Protecting her from Marjory?_

"_Don't worry, Marjory Stewart-Baxter." said SF. "I-I-It's only Wendy Crawford. The lovely lady we met the other day."_

_Wendy felt a little sick inside. Why was she finding comfort in SF's grasp?_

* * *

**[TO BE CONTINUED]**


End file.
